


h/hr: dance me to the end of love

by afrenchexit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrenchexit/pseuds/afrenchexit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels her muscles stiffening and knows why. He automatically pulls her to him, closing the polite distance he’s kept, and keeps her hand firmly intertwined with his own.<i> Dancing among all the dead.</i> The thought comes careening in like a spell, a curse shot square at them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	h/hr: dance me to the end of love

**Author's Note:**

> a slight reimagining of the dance scene in dh pt 1.

He’s using his wand to light the lanterns around the tent and she smiles, followed by a rush of shame. This is no time for such ease, for comfort, she thinks as he takes her hand and moves her to the center of the room. The radio is crackling with static, but they can make out the song. She almost laughs at him, his intently serious face and gangly body, still slightly awkward with the tail end of adolescence, though taller and leaner now. She remembers how they danced at the ball fourth year, her carefully studied waltz matched so disastrously with his stiff, embarrassed movements. He spins her now and then himself, and he laughs at how she manages grace in spite of him.

She rests her chin on his shoulder and tries to ignore the churning of their empty stomachs, how her body is still prickling, resonating with the physical memory of Bellatrix’s curses, the faint traces of the scar she can feel on the back of his hand. _I must not tell lies._ Despite this clean, secure moment, there’s a flash of panic as she becomes aware of not having their wands in hand for the first time in weeks. As they dance she suddenly imagines the violins, the radio, her books and their bed, all of it, burning. She closes her eyes and wills the image away, but now it’s all she can see - their cities, their homes, Hogwarts, their friends, all aflame, all screaming.

He feels her muscles stiffening and knows why. He automatically pulls her to him, closing the polite distance he’s kept, and keeps her hand firmly intertwined with his own. _Dancing among all the dead._ The thought comes careening in like a spell, a curse shot square at them. In spite of himself he glances at the collected horcruxes arranged in a line on the nearby table, each waiting to be destroyed somehow - artifacts they never discuss, only collect and then arrange and study while pretending to sleep.

The song ends and the radio hisses only static, but they keep dancing, their movements becoming smaller and smaller, until they are only holding each other in the silence.


End file.
